by Rina Kent
“I’m not here for a reunion.” I’m surprised my voice is calm, considering the jittery emotions sinking at the bottom of my stomach.
“Then what are you here for?”
“You know. You sent me that recording on purpose.”
“It was the final attempt to bring you to me. And here you are.”
“Why haven’t you sent it before? Why now?”
“Because you’re stubborn. You take after me, in that respect. We share DNA, Claire — I know how to push your buttons. I thought the interview and the media attention would be enough to make you crumble, but you’re not that sixteen-year-old kid anymore, you’re stronger.” I don’t miss the pride in his voice as he says the last word.
“No thanks to you.”
He laughs, the sound long and a bit deranged. “It’s all thanks to me, Claire. I made you, and you were only able to grow because you rebelled against your maker.”
“I reported the truth. I saved people.”
“And how did that feel, my little muse?” His humour disappears as he leans closer on the table, his fingers intertwined while he watches me closely with unhinged eyes that match mine in colour. “Did they worship at your altar, or did they bite the hand that fed them? They attacked you, cursed your existence, and are currently plotting your demise. Didn’t I tell you that humans only exist to be used?”
“I’m not you.” The words clog my throat before they come out.
“You are in many ways. That’s why you turned me in, Claire. You did it because you were afraid you’d become like me, and that type of freedom scared you. It still does. Admit it, we’re one, my little muse. We always were.”
My fingers shake and I grip them together on my lap. “I did nothing wrong. You did. So don’t you dare put me in the same category as you.”
“But we are. That’s why you’re here. You were always meant to come see me and apologise for the misjudgement you made by turning me in.”
“The only reason I came here is because of the recording of Alicia’s last moments. You said someone was trying to make her believe she was crazy. Who was it?”
“Oh, that. It’s the same person who sent us the recordings of Alicia’s messages. They also knew about my fixation on Bridget and Alicia. See, the first time I met your mother, I was…experimenting, but no matter what I did, it always fell short. Bridget came to Yorkshire for a festival and was sitting alone in a pub. The moment I saw her, it was as if I’d found purpose, inspiration, beauty, and madness. She was the muse that I’d spent so long searching for.
“I planned to suffocate her after I fucked her that night, but I couldn’t. The light in her eyes kept me going and going and…going. We spent the weekend together, then she went back to her husband. I followed her from afar, and she was different in London — boring almost. She was nothing like the woman who threw away all her inhibitions and showed her true colours at that festival. However, she did inspire me, and for that, I kept her alive.
“My obsession with her bled into women who resembled her, and let’s say, she suspected it. When she gave birth to you, she dropped you at my doorstep and disappeared into the night. I was so busy with you, I didn’t pay her many visits. Then Alicia came for you of her own volition. She was a carbon copy of Bridget, so when your mum killed herself, I latched onto Alicia for inspiration. She became my new muse, and I assume the one who poisoned her knew that fact.”
My lips tremble and I set them in a line as I absorb what he’s said and hear the confirmation that he’s a monster with his own words. “Who is it?”
“I have my theories.”
“Who?”
“Why do you want to know, my little muse? Do you suspect they’re after you now?”
“I want justice for Alicia.” My heart dips in its cavity as I murmur, “Is it Jonathan?”
A part of me has already started mourning the fact that it could be Jonathan. After all, Alicia named him, and he made me feel as if I were insane when I mentioned the flash drives. He could’ve easily bribed Paul, the concierge, so that he’d lie and say he didn’t receive any packages.
If he hurt Alicia in any way, I won’t be able to forgive him. I don’t care that she did. I’m not her, and deep down, I’ll always hate him.
It’ll destroy me in the process, but I won’t be able to trust him ever again.
“Jonathan.” Dad raises a brow. “What is it about him that got you both tangled up? I didn’t raise you to take other people’s leftovers, Claire.”
“Is it him?” I insist.
“Apologise first and I might consider forgiving you and telling you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Say, I’m sorry I turned you in, Dad. I’m sorry I fucking betrayed you.”
“I didn’t betray you, Dad. You betrayed me. You painted the world for me, then you turned it all black. You became my hero just to pull the carpet from beneath my feet. The world shattered in front of my eyes the moment I saw you dragging a corpse with complete nonchalance. I was sixteen, Dad! Fucking sixteen. I hadn’t even lived yet and you killed me. I hadn’t breathed yet and you smothered me. I spent the past eleven years gasping for air and finding smoke. The moment I start to pull my pieces together, the memory of you scatters them apart all over again. So don’t you dare sit there and say I betrayed you. You betrayed me. You were my world, but you metaphorically buried me alive in that eighth grave. I’m finally digging my way out, and I will not allow you to push me in that hole again.”
Tears soak my cheeks by the time I finish, but they’re not sad or weak tears. They’re angry tears. Injustice tears. Because I was finally able to tell him what I think, what I’ve always thought.
The reason I felt so guilty towards those victims was because, even though I hated him for what he did, I couldn’t stop considering him as my dad. The little girl in me still loved him. She still saw him as the father who picked her up, after her mother threw her away, and raised her as if his world revolved around her.
But he tarnished that world. He smashed it to pieces.
Maybe that’s why sixteen-year-old me thought I needed to take the jabs and the hits. She even thought being stabbed was karma for not being able to hate my father as much as I should. For secretly still loving him. For secretly missing him.
I needed to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to consider your father a father, despite him being a monster. I just have to move on from those memories where I considered him my world.
He isn’t.
He’s just a monster who doesn’t deserve respect.
Dad remains motionless. His expression doesn’t change, but his jaw clenches. “You will not get anything from me unless you apologise, Claire.”
“I’ll never apologise for turning you in, Dad. That was the best decision I made in my life, even if it flipped it upside down.”
I stand up because it’s useless to try to extract information out of him. He’s right. We’re both too stubborn, and he won’t give me anything unless I comply with his condition.
“They’re only after you because you’re my muse now, Claire. They’re after me, not you.”
“Then I hope they get you.” A tear slides down my cheek as I stare him in the eyes that are identical to mine and, in a way, it feels like I’m bidding farewell to the little girl I always saw in those eyes. To the me from the past. “This is our official goodbye, Dad. I’ll never visit you again. If you still want to go on with the parole process, I’ll stand there again and tell them you deserve every second you spend in prison.”
I take one last look at his face, at the drawn brows and the golden beard and hair and I finally grieve my father.
When I get out of the building, I inhale a deep gulp of air.
Real air.
Actual air.
The feeling of being alive hits me straight in the chest and it’s so strong, I have to brace myself against the wall for a second.
I’m finally alive.
F
inally breathing.
I’m finally out of that grave. Literally and figuratively.
“Are you all right, Miss?” One of my security men clutches me by the elbow.
I straighten, clearing my throat. “I’m perfect. Thank you.”
“Mr King has been calling nonstop,” he says as he leads me to the awaiting car.
Of course he has.
Once I’m in the back seat, I check my phone, and sure enough, there are a dozen missed calls and emails.
From: Jonathan King
To: Aurora Harper
Subject: Answer The Fucking Phone
Refer to subject. Don’t make me come find you from fucking Oxford.
Then another one.
From: Jonathan King
To: Aurora Harper
Subject: I’m On My Way
You better be ready for that arse to be turned red.
I power off my phone. Dad didn’t deny that Jonathan could be the one behind Alicia’s poisoning. If he is, this will get ugly.
“Miss.” The bodyguard hands me his phone with a pleading expression. “Please answer or he’ll fire us all.”
The fucking tyrant.
I swipe the green button.
“If you don’t put her on the fucking phone right now, consider your future ruined.”
My heart picks up speed at the sound of his voice, and I want to murder that heart. I want to bury it with Alicia so it never beats again.
“I’m on my way home,” I say in a bland voice that I don’t even recognise. “And stop threatening people.”
I hang up before he can say anything.
By the time we reach home, Jonathan has called the guards’ phones a few more times, but I took them and powered them off.
“Tell him I did it,” I say to the men as I leave the car and stride into the house.
They nod, but their expressions remain unsure.
My steps are long and confident. Jonathan better be ready for the hell I’m going to bring him the moment he walks through the door.
He’ll tell me everything, and he better be convincing, because I’m not in the mood to be trifled with today.
A shadow passes in my peripheral vision, and I freeze. The screeching sound of my heels echoes in the silence.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
I make a run for the entrance. The security guys are there and —
A body hits me from behind and we both crash to the ground. I scream, thrashing and clawing at them. A hand covers my mouth from behind, muting any sound I have to make.
I manage to roll onto my back and claw at the mask covering his face. I remove it, my nails pulling at his hair, then I freeze. The dragon tattoo. How come I didn’t see it before?
“You,” the word falls from me in a murmur.
Renewed energy rushes through me and I hit him in the crotch. He wails and I use the chance to jump to my feet. Adrenaline tightens my muscles and I’m about to make a run for it again when something prickles my nape.
I fall into the shadow’s hand, eyes rolling to the back of my head.
“J-Jonathan…” I whimper as the world turns black.
30
Jonathan
“Fuck!”
I grip the phone tightly as my security guy hangs up on me.
I’m willing to bet it’s Aurora again, not him. She has that fucking attitude that drives me insane.
But she had no business visiting the fucker Maxim. If he tells her anything that will worsen her state of mind, I’ll murder him in his cell.
“Faster, Moses.”
My driver speeds up, not caring if we get a few tickets in the process. As long as I reach Aurora, nothing else matters.
I try calling my security again. This time, Arnold picks up. Fucking finally.
“Where is she?” I bark.
“She just went inside the house, sir.”
“Don’t let her out. I don’t care if you have to chain her to a fucking tree.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t hurt her, though. Leave a scratch on her skin and I’ll cut off your balls.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up, releasing a breath. Sometimes, I don’t know what goes on in that woman’s head. It doesn’t matter how submissive she gets under my hand or in bed. Out of it, she’s a tigress ready to rip the world a new one — me included.
Maybe that’s what made the challenge of taming her all the more thrilling. The feeling of utter control and empowerment I get from owning her is something I’ve never experienced before.
Even the feelings I have for this woman are entirely different from what I know. It’s that strange sensation that creeps up on you, then completely owns you.
Contrary to what everyone thinks, I do feel. I loved my parents and my brother in my own way. Aiden and Levi, too. But all of them are family — they’re people who hold the King name and my blood.
Aurora is different.
It’s not even a sense of duty and mutual understanding like it was with Alicia. There’s no mutual fucking understanding with Aurora. She does what her head tells her and tests my control every step of the way.
Yet she’s the only woman who’s fit to be the queen of my empire.
With Aurora, it’s…belonging. Yes, I believe that’s the right word. She’s the first person who’s spoken to my soul without words. Which is weird as fuck since I always thought I lacked that — a soul, that is.
At first, I didn’t understand how she brought out that part of me, but the more time I spend with her, the more certain I am that she’s slowly but surely becoming an indispensable part of my life.
The thought of living on without her punches a hole in my previously impenetrable chest.
That’s why her suggestion of ending it per the agreement pissed me the fuck off. It still brings on incomparable rage to the front of my head.
There’s no way in fuck I’m letting her go, or worse, standing by to watch her move on. I’ll kill every last fucker before that happens.
The car rolls to the mansion and I release a long breath.
Is the confrontation with her going to be easy? Probably not, but that’s the thing about Aurora, I’m ready for her tantrums and provocations and everything in between.
Hell, I even strive for them now.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I expect it to be one of the guards who’ll tell me she’s trying to leave — or that she has already left.
I’ll chase her to the ends of the earth if I have to.
The unknown number that flashes on my screen gives me pause.
I answer with my curt tone, “Jonathan King.”
“Kyle Hunter.”
“Right, Kyle. Have you figured out the identity of the attacker?”
“I’ve done more than that and I’m on my way. Give me access inside.” His cool voice filters through the phone with ease.
“Who is it?”
“Not only is he under your roof, but his game is a lot bigger than you think.”
I stop breathing as Kyle continues speaking. The name he says, the dates, and the events that occurred are all connected. But it’s not his words that make me barge out of the car before it properly stops.
It’s the woman inside.
Aurora’s life is in danger.
31
Aurora
Voices reach me as if I’m at the bottom of the sea and they’re somewhere at the surface. Distorted, far away, and barely audible.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my dry mouth and it takes me a considerable amount of energy to swallow.
My pupils move behind my eyelids, but I’m not seeing anything… I don’t think. It’s like I’m back in that grave. My side open, blood pours from me and I can’t lift myself to come out.
Tears pool at the corners of my eyes. No. I’m not that sixteen-year-old girl anymore. I said goodbye to my nightmare. I mourned him.
Slowly, too slowly, my eyes open. The walls are turning
and I’m about to fall.
Only…I don’t.
I’m bound to a chair by thick ropes around my torso and others strain my arms behind my back.
Blinking twice, I start to register my surroundings. The counter, the clean white flooring, the table in the middle.
The kitchen. I’m in the kitchen at home.
My eyes widen when I make out the man behind a camera that’s sitting on a tripod. The man who has a mask falling around his neck. The scratch marks I left earlier run diagonally across his face.
The man who stabbed me eleven years ago and attacked me a few weeks back.
Tom.
The reason I haven’t picked up on the dragon tattoo is because he has hair now. He was bald back then — eleven years ago, I mean.
Despite the taste of acid and fear at the back of my throat, I hold my ground. I have no doubt that he plans to hurt me, and that camera is probably a way to record it.
Shit.
Fuck.
During my stay here, I thought he was silent because it’s a part of his personality. He’s actually grown on me for his kind nature, but I had no clue he’d been plotting my demise.
But he wasn’t the one who drugged me earlier…right? I scratched him and was running…then I somehow got punctured by a needle and fell back into his arms.
Someone else was there.
“The princess is finally awake.”
I jolt at the voice coming from my right. My eyes nearly bug out of their sockets as she joins Tom.
“M-Margot?”
“Yes, Miss?” Her tone is flat, her green eyes stone cold.
“B-but how? Why?” I stare between her and Tom. “He was the one who attacked me.”
“With my help.” Her Irish accent becomes more prominent. “As for why, maybe you should’ve asked your father during today’s visit.”
“Y-you’re a victim’s family member?” It’s hard to speak, and it’s not because of who’s standing in front of me. My tongue is heavy and so are my limbs — probably due to the drugs.
